In the Rain
by lampshaded
Summary: Oneshot. HP/DM. What Harry should have said, before the final battle.


In the Rain

"What is this about, Potter?" He asked, glaring at the scruffy, scrawny kid in front of him that had charmed so many. How could he have become so famous without learning the most basic grooming charms or even how to fasten his tie in a straight knot?

"Um, it's just, well…" Potter stumbled over his words, one of his hands jingling something noisily in his pocket. His black hair was more wild than usual, spurred into near curls by the damp weather.

"You dragged me away from my studies—when you know we have fourteen inches of potions essay due tomorrow—into the rain on this bloody muddy excuse for a path to 'um' at me?" Malfoy's tone was sharp. Harry couldn't help feel like he was being berated by a professor, like McGonagall.

"I—no! Not, not really." Potter kicked at a clod of grass and suddenly seemed to inflate with courage. His eyes lock onto his adversary's, firm and determined. "I wanted to offer a truce."

Malfoy blinked once, his expression unreadable. Harry began to feel more awkward as the silence stretched. He swiped at the water collecting on his glasses. A frog croaked in the lake nearby.

"You want a truce." It wasn't a question. Malfoy suddenly barked out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Harry Potter," He spat, his lips twisting downwards. "The great hero, no, savior of the wizarding world, has come to negotiate a truce with me, the lowly, downtrodden Malfoy." He sneered and turned. "Don't waste my time. I don't care to contemplate your inane antics."

"No—Malfoy, wait!" Harry trotted forward to keep up with the long-legged man. "Really, I want a truce. You're—we're not really enemies. Not with this war going on."

Malfoy stopped, his back straight and stiff in his dark, crisp robe. His fine hair brushed the top of his starched collar. He was definitely wearing a charm to stay dry. Malfoy turned around and fixed Harry with a piercing stare.

"You—I mean, we never really were enemies." Harry stammered. "Not—not like that."

"Not like that." Draco repeated, tingles of adrenaline beginning to work through his body as he thought with interest. "What would this truce cover, exactly?"

"I—I really don't need any more enemies. I've got enough of those. If anything, I could use a few more friends." Harry said in a rush, then flushed as Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"You want me," Malfoy dictated, his words precise. "To be your friend?"

"Err, yes?"

"Even though," Malfoy's voice cut, increasing in volume. "My house, my friends, my family, and my ideals are everything you despise. You want to be friends."

Harry started to say something but was abruptly cut off.

"No, no, don't say anything, don't say a thing!" Malfoy spat, his eyes narrow. "Let me get this straight. You, Harry Potter, savior, hero, conquerer of evil, the almighty bringer of the light into the darkness of the wizarding world are asking me, Draco Malfoy, of The Malfoy lineage, if I, he whose father and aunt are directly—,"

Harry made to interrupt again but was silenced.

"Quiet! Don't they reflect rather poorly on this matter? Are you sure that you want to be asking me, He-who-isn't-worthy-to-be-scraped-off-the-bottom-of-the-Savior's-boots to be your friend? Do I really understand this correctly, you want the two of Us to be Friends?

Malfoy's brow was furrowed, his face twisted. He was breathing sharply through his nose and stared with an intensity that was piercing.

"I—well, yes." Harry offered. "I mean no—not about all that light-bringing and shoe-scraping stuff. But friends, yeah."

Malfoy was still staring and Harry flushed, realizing that he wasn't being terribly articulate.

"Just me and—you and I, not Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Just us, as we are, friends." Harry finally got out.

Malfoy's sharp gaze harrowed into him for a moment longer before he spun smartly on his heel, turning again back to the castle to leave, yet he didn't take a step. It was a long moment before the silence was broken.

"Are there any other conditions of this truce?" He intoned, his back still turned. "What are my benefits?"

Harry stared for a moment, then snorted and shook his some droplets out of his soggy hair.

"How about a ticket to freedom after this whole war thing is over? As you said, your relations may 'reflect poorly' when they decide who gets to stay and who gets carted off the Azkaban. If you work with me you won't have to deal with that."

"You're that sure you will win?" Malfoy's voice was tight, thin.

"Yes. Voldemort is a mere man. We will fight and he will fall." Harry said with absolute certainty, his voice steady and clear. "It will happen soon, whether or not you pick a side."

The wind began to pick up, the rain fell heavier, stippling the bright surface of the water.

"And what makes you think I haven't already chosen?" Malfoy whispered, his hand tightening on his forearm, just below his elbow. His voice was hardly audible.

"I don't care." Harry said.

Malfoy turned back to him in a single, abrupt motion. The charm on his hair was beginning to wear off and his wet fringe started to droop.

"What?" He asked sharply.

"I said I don't care if you've already chosen." Harry's brow furrowed, his gaze strong and focused as it cut through the misty air.

"I don't care about that thing on your arm or what was done to you to get it there. I know how some choices aren't really choices at all—how you can want something so simple, you want it so bad, but it can't happen. I know you—I saw when you stood at wand-point at the top of a tower, looking down at a defenseless man, when they were telling you to kill him. Even then, you couldn't do it."

Malfoy's already pale face was taking on an even whiter pallor, his eyes wide.

"I know even when you try your hardest—even when your life depends on it, that you are no killer. You were dragged into your situation just as I was dragged into mine. I'm ready for what's coming." Potter paused, his determined eyes suddenly searching and sad as if Draco was a tragedy just waiting to happen. "You—he'll kill you. You must see that."

Draco's tongue was stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. A tremor shook one of his knees. The fears that had been hovering quietly in the back of his mind suddenly seemed to choke him, squeezing the breath out of his chest with their weight.

"I—that wasn't what I came out here to say," Harry said quietly, his eyes dropped off to the side as he ducked his head and kicked at the clump of grass again. "But it's true. I don't want it to happen, either. I—I couldn't hate anyone that much, not even you." His eyes flicked back to Malfoy.

Rain dripped off of Draco's fringe and ran down the side of his face. He stood immobile.

"I'm offering you a real choice, one that you'll have to make on your own. There is no catch, you just continue your life as it is and when the time comes, watch my back. I'll watch yours."

The cool rain was falling steadily, soaking them both. Draco could feel it start to puddle in his shoes. A minute passed. The lakeside was silent, apart from the rain.

"I'll let you think about it," Potter whispered and stepped past him, back toward the castle. His ratty trainers squished through the dark mud, dragging sodden frays of pantlegs through a deep puddle.

Malfoy's hand shot out, his slim, cold fingers gripping the other man's fingertips in tight desperation. Harry stilled, eyes on the limp grass of the path. The foreign hand pinching his trembled.

"I accept."

Harry could hardly hear his voice over the heavy drops falling around him but nodded just the same.

They walked back to the castle together; coat sleeves brushing, cold fingers touching. In the rain.


End file.
